


Hostel

by fmaloser



Category: Original - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 08:45:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19742179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fmaloser/pseuds/fmaloser





	Hostel

No time to shower so I just throw my hair up. No make up, it’s a waste of effort. Clothes? The sluttiest I can find.

Make my way to the party room and find all the familiar faces. Ronnie’s shouting, “Fuck off Cunt!” before snatching his beer and begrudgingly tossing it back. Harry fills a pink Happy Birthday! balloon with laughing gas. Tina’s already twerking along to today’s top hits thumping from Nick’s portable speaker.

I grab the box of wine from our makeshift table made from scrap wood and an empty beer keg. On my way I’d stopped in the kitchen; all they had left to hold my beverage were a plastic cereal bowl or a blue coffee mug. So the mug it was.

Fill that baby to the rim, down it. Refill.

Harry passes me a balloon and I smile in thanks. Put the opening to my lips, inhale, exhale, filling the balloon and emptying it over and over until I can’t stand still. The world is spinning and I’m swaying with it.

We drink. And we drink.

Ronnie sets his targets on me and I can tell as soon as it happens. He sits beside me nice and close, asking me questions and waiting for answers I know he doesn’t give a shit about.

I want to go out tonight. But we keep drinking, playing games, laughing like buffoons while some poor sponge humiliates himself at our request.

Hand on my knee but I like that. The caress on my neck is even better. I feel dirty but it’s my choice to allow this, to enjoy it.

Nick trusts his weight to the tabletop as he stands and sends all the drinks flying, the unsecured plywood acting as a drunken catapult. The floor’s now a puddle of fruity cheap wine and beer that probably belonged there in the first place.

They say every litre of wine this cheap takes a year off your life. Not that we’re planning so far ahead anyhow.

The balloons only last a short time; 20 seconds of fuzzy vision, giggling and the sounds of a scratched CD, the music sounding so foreign and distorted. One sound bite on repeat.

Such a short lived high, killing brain cells like a drunk driving his truck through a crowd. Irresponsible. And incredibly stupid.

But fun! So the sound of nitrous charges cracking open never stops and our cups are never empty. We dance on tables and splash our feet in the squandered puddles of poison. Everybody’s laughing and there’s always a joke waiting.

Life is the party and we’ve perfected the practice.

  
*  
*  
*

  
I wake up in the common room.

Must be early, just a few tenants are awake. Whether they’ve just woken up or on their way to bed, it’s hard to tell.

A man I’ve never spoken with is sending me a smile from across the room. At a child’s table in the corner, barely touching his McDonald’s. Eyes full of childish mischief, as if he’s discovered a new game and needs somebody to play.

He’s definitely been awake all night.

Want some? he says.

I should get to bed, I say.

No, Stay! he presses, expression friendly and eyes knowing, grasping my hand as I totter past.

Sleepy eyes meet his, that grin still stretched across his face. He’s a handsome man, you can tell he gets what he wants.

Come with me, he says, and I follow because he’s pulling me in the direction I was going anyway.

Out into the hallway, up the stairs, take a left and there’s my door.

Except he takes a right at the staircase and leads me to a washroom.

“I should go to bed,”

I’m a robot repeating basic commands, the programs hardwired into my brain. I’m still on autopilot. Yet somehow I’ve been led off course, the door shut and my back pressed against it,

Lips against mine,

And that smile again. He knows who I am. He knows the guys who live here, he’s probably heard all their stories.

About me.

But I choose my matches, I make the decisions. I play the game and I decide who wins.

My skirt is up and my panties down. He bends me over the sink and I can see my lips in the mirror, they form an O as he slides inside me. Just like that. No time to think.

But I’m a bad girl, I like to be a slut. I tell people this all the time, remind them when they ask, don’t you feel like they’re taking advantage?

Don’t you feel used?

I don’t want their pity and I hate to see it in their eyes. I can take care of myself. I’m in control.

He can see my face in the mirror. Eyes searching mine as if to ask,

This is what you like, isn’t it?

I know it’s what you like.

Thrusting into me faster now and I’m moaning, mouth hanging open, panting, biting my lip. Pushing back, meeting his moves.

Convincing us both that I want it.


End file.
